


Quiet is Relative

by Leximuth



Series: Short Stories [12]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crystal City, M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leximuth/pseuds/Leximuth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of quiet in Crystal City. Relatively quiet. Or at least safely quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet is Relative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyarorin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyarorin/gifts).



The Crystal Caves were never quiet. It was comforting, really, the constant rumbling echo from the ceiling and buildings; it sounded much like Cybertron. At least, the parts of Cybertron Drift -- Deadlock -- DRIFT had lived in.

One of the benefits of living with a flyer was that they didn't notice if you kept the windows open all the time. No awkward questions about why his vents rattled when the rooms were too quiet, or why he needed air on his plating to rest properly, or why he was always glancing out the window. If he could hear out of them he didn't need to check his exits as often, after all.

But it was when he rested that the sounds of the city were the best. The city itself didn't have a down cycle; much like Cybertron, there was no day or night. Drift could lay on the slab, back to the wall, and rest a hand over Wing's vents to feel the soft movement of warm air. He could lean his head against Wing to feel the soft murmurs of his body working in constant reassurance: alive, alive, still alive. The city outside paid them no heed. It hummed and buzzed and shouted now and then but none of it paused threateningly by their windows. No gunfire to jerk him into alertness, no low voices plotting that he had to strain to overhear. Just his own quiet, Wing's sleepy kisses against his finials, and the even murmur of the city ignoring them.

If this wasn't peace, he didn't know what peace was.


End file.
